Page 91 of D for Dead

He should close the hatchway, go back home and pretend tonight had never happened.

Coward.

He wasn’t a coward. He was a twelve-year-old kid. What was he supposed to do?

Just check it out. You have to know. If you don’t find out you will always wonder.

Tentatively he eased one foot onto the top stone step.

Go on; you can do this.

The other foot followed.

The door is open and you can leave at any time.

Darkness swallowed him as he made his way down the steps, feeling his way with the toes of his sneakers and holding on to the cold stone wall for support.

When he was halfway down he glanced behind him, saw the clear night sky scattered with stars and imagined the door closing, trapping him inside. For a moment he nearly lost his bottle and ran.

The door isn’t gonna close. Don’t be an idiot. The quicker you find out what is in the basement, the quicker you can leave.

As he continued down the steps, the air grew musty, stale, and he recognised another scent but couldn’t quite place it. It roiled his stomach; gave him a bad feeling.

He reached the bottom of the steps and a faint beam of light showed he was in a narrow corridor. The light came from a doorway. As he edged towards it the whimper came again. This time it was louder and chilled him to the bone.

Go, now. You shouldn’t be here.

Ignoring the voice in his head, Troy peered through the crack in the door. What he saw had his hand flying to his mouth to stop the scream escaping, stop the contents of his dinner spilling up onto the floor.

The room was like a prison: grey brick walls, a hardback wooden kitchen chair and table. Someone was on the table but not moving, and, from the amount of blood and the way the head was twisted at an unnatural angle, dead.

Beyond the table stood Danielle, her arms pulled overhead and her wrists secured with chains that hung from the ceiling. Blood bubbled from her mouth, smearing her face and dripping down the frumpy blue dress she wore.

Troy stared, horrified, his brain unable to process what he was seeing. Before he could react there was another sound: footsteps approaching the door at the far end of the room.

Both Danielle and Troy watched as Amy stumbled into the room, taking in the scene before her. Seeing Danielle, then the body on the table, she screamed. Danielle started whimpering again, the sound becoming more frantic as she looked beyond Amy. Troy saw the dark shadow fall on the room as Amy turned to run, slamming into the man behind her. She tried

to duck, but he was too quick for her, grabbing hold of her shoulder and pushing her hard to the floor. He slammed the door closed behind him, cutting off any escape.

Amy was screaming, Danielle whimpering, and Troy watching wide-eyed through the crack of the doorway, rooted to the spot. As the man turned to Danielle, Troy caught a look at his face.

Tucker Johnson.

‘So, you little snoop.’ He caught hold of Danielle by the frizz of her hair, glanced over at Amy. ‘I see you’ve brought a friend.’

27

Amy was scheduled to work at the Velvet Lounge on Wednesday night, but a call to Gage had him reorganising staff, and the two of them sat in her apartment, along with Heidi, Fran, Officer Peterson and Huckleberry, while she tried to deal with what had happened in Doctor Shinnick’s office.

She had spent much of the day with Sullivan, Angell and the two FBI agents down at the police department, going over details from yesterday’s session with Shinnick, plus more time with the doctor who had insisted she have follow-up sessions to help her deal with the trauma she had uncovered, and her mind was tired, her body exhausted. She knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight, just as she hadn’t slept a wink last night.

Fran had cooked a chilli, urged her to eat a bowl, but Amy had no appetite. Instead, she nursed her second glass of wine, hand trembling on the glass despite the warmth of the evening.

Since uncovering the memory of Danielle she had been under a microscope, probed by the police and by Doctor Shinnick. She knew they only wanted to help her, but Amy just wanted to be left alone. The nightmare she had suffered over the years was real; how was she supposed to come to terms with it?

‘So is this Johnson guy the one doing the murders?’ Gage wanted to know.

Her friends were both shocked and intrigued by the latest turn of events and still upset at Leon’s murder. They’d all known him, liked him, and now he was dead.